


Second Chances Need to be Earned

by fricktony



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:52:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fricktony/pseuds/fricktony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Washington wants to go home. Unfortunately, when you and your fellow soldiers are known across the UNSC for being some of the best around, home isn't a place they will let you go easily.<br/>When a new soldier with some impressive moves turns up, Agent Washington wants to ignore what he hopes is just another fad around base. But as the new guy causes a strain in the one relationship Wash actually still gives a damn about -<br/>Well, things just got personal.<br/>-Post Chorus. Storyline works around original character but this is primarily a Tuckington from Wash's perspective, featuring members of BGC-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The devil is in the details".  
> Please let me know if I get anything too massively wrong. This is my first time writing anything remotely like RvB. I am going to mess up.

When he was done with Chorus; When the New Republic and the Federal Army were nothing but a distant memory; When Felix and Locus were shadowy figures confined to his nightmares;

Wash wanted to go home.

 (and maybe drag a certain aqua soldier along with him). 

He didn’t really know where home was. It used to be the ship he shared with the freelancers and other personnel, and then it was wherever he followed the reds and blues to and then -  
Well, there wasn’t really any where he could think of where he felt quite so… okay. 

But he imagined he would find somewhere. It wouldn’t be easy, hell no, he still suffered from nightmares and paranoia and a whole host of other issues that would no more fade than the rest of the scars on his body - but, provided he gained a little help from aforementioned aqua soldier (not that Wash had actually gotten round to mentioning it yet), he might be able to find a real, safe, _home_.

 Unfortunately for Agent Washington, that simply isn’t possible. 

He, along with the rest of his team mates, can still walk. They can still talk. And most importantly, they can still fight. And just because one war is over, doesn’t mean they all are. Chorus wasn’t the only place that had heard of the infamous Blood Gulch Crew and their freelancer friends. 

Which is how Agent Washington finds himself on some _bullshit ship_ , in the _ass-end of the universe_ , putting up the same _bullshit kind of soldiers_ he has done every day for _god fucking knows how many years_ , and why fucking god will the universe _not just let him fucking rest?_

At least the Blood Gulch crew are here with him. Small mercy.

 And in a way, it kind of reminds him of a more organised, ready to pounce, large scale version of the red vs blue way of things. Because while everything looks very official, and soldiers actually make progress in their training, and people listen to their sergeants and superiors -  
 There seems to be a lot of sitting around. And waiting. Wondering if the other team will ever make a move.  So while they’re all on the same team (not that it stops Sarge from ferociously guarding his bunk from those “dirty blues”) and no one has been captured or thrown off cliffs or possessed or a ghost and generally everyone is okay, Wash guesses he can accept it as a close enough home for now.

 ***

 When Wash walks into the mess hall monday evening after a good, thorough day of training (he’s beaten his score on the expert course every time he’s run it today), he can tell something is up. The hall is abuzz, more so than it usually is. The tired faces of younger soldiers all seem to be wide-eyed today, the older seeming chattier, more invigorated in their conversation. Wash has seen this before, recognises it from when they find something new on an excavation or when a shipment of supplies comes in or when there’s just some serious gossip spreading around camp (like when they first arrived, Wash thinks. Their reputation from Chorus seems to have followed them).

So he grabs his tray of food and makes a beeline for the familiar faces he can see, a guy in orange slacks sat next to a guy still in his maroon armour, talking to a man-child in blue, trying to feed himself through his visor. 

Oh, and some dumb-ass with dreads and an idiot smile and possible the worst sense of humour, ever, that makes Wash feel all giddy and stupid and warm inside. Yeah, him too.

 Washington plants himself down opposite the soldier with dreads and smiles when the man acknowledges him with a grin. “Hey, Tucker, what’s got them all riled up?” Wash gestures to the men sitting to his left, still wrapped up in whatever heated conversation they were having beforehand. They haven’t stopped to say hello yet, not that it makes a change, but regardless their conversation has left the two reds deep in debate, and Caboose covered in food.

 Tucker rolls his eyes. “Some soldier kicked everyones asses today in training and those two are arguing over whether it’s Tex or not. I’ve decided that since there’s no way in hell she was ever gonna get a piece of this, I don’t care anymore.” 

Washington ignores the thud in his chest that comes every time with the _oh-yeah-tucker-isn’t-gay_ thing and turns to the two to his right. 

“What makes you think it was Tex?” He asks them incredulously. Partly he’s asking because he wants to know what idiot thinking led to that idea; partly because he still feels it’s his duty to protect them, and something as unfavourable as another Agent Texas is something he needs to pay attention to. 

It’s Grif who raises a finger to Simmons mouth to shush him and swivels round on his stool to face Wash. “Okay, so we didn’t see it, but apparently there’s been this guy standing in the corner every day during training, just like, lurking there. And he never takes part, he only watches, and people had begun to talk because he had green armour, and aside from us and sort of you, every one here has plain grey armour. So anyway, today out of nowhere this guy rolls up to training and demands to fight the best three on the squad, and the captain’s like “no, you’re gonna get yourself killed” and the guys like “whatever” so he fights them anyway, and absolutely demolishes them all, and then he goes round to every squad training and demands the same thing, and destroys all them too, and then he just disappears and no ones seen him since, and like, he’s not on anyone’s squad, he’s just here and so I thought that sounded kinda like Tex and Simmons said it couldn’t be because everyone heard it was a guy and so I said that she had voice changing stuff in her armour at first too and so s-“

 Wash holds up a hand to stop the gibberish and laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s probably a kid who learned a few special moves and decided to adopt a brooding, mysterious, god complex. They’ll get knocked off their pedestal soon. Eat your food.”

 “Now there’s an order I can obey.” Grif mumbles and turns back to his plate. 

Wash only shrugs his shoulders to Tucker, a sign of his agreement that yeah, this isn't anything to bother about. “Hopefully it’ll die down soon.”

 “Same goes for my dick.” Tucker says with a smirk.

 _Yeah_ , Wash realises as he thinks for the millionth time how much he both loves and hates this fucking dork. _I’ve got bigger problems than some kid with a big ego._

***

The Tuesday the day after is one of the days Wash, Caboose, and Tucker decide to use to train with each other. Their titles of Captain from Chorus haven’t disappeared, so they still have their own men to train, but it was good to step back a bit, let the soldiers find their own footing and discover the way they trained best. And still, although they’re improving, Wash has years of expert training and experience on them. There probably won’t be a day they can’t learn something new from him. They’d even invited the reds along, but at the end of the day Sarge is their leader. Wash has always been closer to the blues. Their rejection is understandable.

 They’re finishing up, running over weapon maintenance and basic knowledge that it seems no one but Wash really bothers to learn (not that they shouldn’t at least try), when Tuckers stops his whining to point something out. 

“Hey, isn’t that the guy Grif was talking about yesterday? His armour looks pretty green. And there’s definitely some brooding behind that helmet.” Tucker points to an area just beyond the grass, underneath the shade of the base and yeah, hidden in the shadows is some guy with definitely not grey armour. And the brooding is pretty evident too - arms folded, leant against the wall, this guy is giving off some serious “don’t fuck with me” vibes (not that Wash would recognise that. He’s never done that look. Nope. Never).

 Wash takes to the same response the night before - he shrugs his shoulders. “Just leave it Tucker. He’s the base celebrity for now, but every will forget about him soon enough. I’ve seen this before.”

 “So you really don’t think -oh shit, dude, I think he saw me looking, he’s coming over!” 

That does catch Wash’s attention. Tucker is indeed right - the soldier emerges from the shadows, making his way towards them with a confident, powerful stride. In an instant, Wash is up on his feet, arms back, head up, and making as good as eye contact with the man approaching them. The green solider isn’t the only one who knows how to look intimidating. “Can I help you?” Wash inquires as they come face to face.

The other doesn’t seem phased by Wash’s less than pleasant tone. “Yeah, actually.” The man straightens himself out to make him almost - but not quite - as tall as Washington. “I’ve been looking for an actual challenge. Care for a spar? I promise I’ll go easy on you.” The mans low, gravely voice makes something in Wash’s memory twitch, but even more so the soldiers assumption that he would need to go easy on the two just… gets under his skin. He and Tucker have been through more shit together than this guy could ever imagine. Who the hell does he think he is? 

“Thanks,” Washington says, forming a more protective stance in front of Tucker as if is to cover him from the mere sight of this guy. “But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll back away. And if you bother us again in the future, you’ll have to hope that we’ll go easy on you.” 

The man moves closer, the top of his helmet just about eye line with Washington. He tilts his head up and snarls, his words quiet enough so that only the Agent can hear. “Oh, was that meant to scare me? It’s only a spar, Boss Man B. Or are you scared I’m going to make you look bad in front of your buddy here? Got him all fooled into thinking you’re some great hero, Agent Washington? You weren’t even one of the good ones in Freelancer.” 

If the soldiers previous words have gotten under Wash’s skin, these have infected the wound, made anger crawl up and eat away at reason. Tucker tries to move forward, stand with Wash and back his friend up, but Wash pushes him behind. This fucker just made things personal - and besides, _‘it’s only a spar’,_ right? 

“Stay back, Tucker. I’ll show this child his place.” Wash says in a tone reserved for when Tucker and Caboose actually need to _follow his orders if they don’t want to die_ , and despite the hurt look on Tuckers face breaking Wash’s heart, his desire to put the jackass in his place wins over.  

Their eyes stay locked on each other as they move over the to wide, open patch of land used for training. Wash acknowledges they should probably be doing this on a proper training floor, but whatever, they’re both wearing armour and he wants to get this over and done with. Somewhere he hears someone counting down from three and the second he hears “Go!” he’s rushing forward, raising an arm in defence, kicking out his leg in offence, trying to hold back as to not murder this guy -

 Not that he needs to, he soon finds out. Because he has underestimated his contender, big time. Don’t misunderstand, Wash still knows he can beat him, though he needs to pull a few tricks out of the book he hasn’t used in a long time. Go for the wrist, twist, behind his back - if he can just move a bit to the left he might be able to get him down- shoot, he’s wriggled out of his grasp, he’s moved to the right! A bit more, avoid that arm, that attack, to the right a bit more!  Wash leeches onto the attacker, a strong hold on his leg the next time he kicks a bit too high, and pulls him down to the ground with a saying thud. He certifies his win by moving pushing down on Green’s chest plate with his foot, holding him down until someone calls a win for Wash and then lifting his foot, offering a hand to help pull him up.

 His hand isn't accepted. Green scrambles up for the floor and tries to puff his chest out. Wash figures it might be intimidating, it it wasn’t for the slight limp the guy has now.

 “You cheated!” he cries out, pointing at Wash. He sounds like a child. “I want a rematch!”

 Wash ignores him, claps Tucker on the back and begins to walk away.  “I told you he was nothing but a fad. Tomorrow everyone will be loosing it over something else.” Behind him he can still hear yelling but it’s not that he’s focusing on. Wash tries talking to Tucker, purposely avoiding thinking about the look he is giving him. Because it’s somewhere between curiosity and annoyance, and Wash knows that he shouldn’t have pushed Tucker away like he did, and he wants to apologise, but that has never been his strong point so he carries on walking and hopes Tucker will forget it soon (because honestly, he’s been forgiven by the blues for worse). “Hey, what’re you doing tonight?” 

“Oh, you know, hitting the clubs, finding a lucky lady to -“ 

“Alright, enough with the sarcasm. I was only wondering if you wanted to hang out for a bit tonight. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do around here.”

 But Tucker is already shaking his head. “Sorry bro, already promised Grif I’d help him with something. Speaking of which, I’d better get moving if I want a shower and food.”  Tucker runs off with a half hearted wave, leaving Wash standing in the dirt feeling like a hole had been punched through his chest. 

Well… he fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> michaxljones is my RT tumblr blog but it's a side blog so if you want to message me you can find me at iwachanz. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Washington see’s Tucker, it’s like the day before has never happened.

Washington spends all day with one eye out looking for him, waiting to catch a glimpse of turquoise armour amongst the standard grey, with no luck whatsoever. Either Tucker is purposely avoiding him or he’s outright invisible. He’s not training outside, inside, in his room, in the mess hall - Wash feels like he’s searched over all of the base, twice, looking for him. 

So when Washington sees him in the break room after the last meal of the day with Donut and Grif, looking all buddied up with the largest of the three; well, he’s a bit nervous.

“Tucker?” Wash queries when he moves closer, because there are actual tears of laughter in the eyes of the man and if that isn’t something that makes Wash more relieved than he has been since Chorus (because war is a black hole for humour and he’s seen one too many friends sucked into the vortex) he’ll be damned.

 “Oh, my God,” Tucker breathes out, clutching his stomach with one hand and redundantly wiping away the onslaught of tears with the other. “Leave while you can, man.” 

“Look, Agent Washington,” Donut is speaking with a matter-of-fact tone that Wash has learned is never a good thing. “I was simply stating that the more open and honest we are about ourselves with the group, our friendship can only grow from there. I just said that Simmons-“

 “You said you wanted to bang Simmons, dude. You wanted Simmons to throw you down on a table, treat you like the bad boy you are, and fuck you senseless.” Washington doesn’t think he’s ever heard Grif speak so graphically about something as intimate as sex; but then, from the splutters that Donut responds with and the hysterical laughter from the other two, he figures the whole point of this conversation was to come up with outrageous lines of the sort and see just how lightish-red Donut can really get.

Washington disregards Tuckers advice and their less than sanitary conversation and claps his hand on Tuckers shoulder to bring the attention back to him.

 “Can I talk to you, please? Out in the hallway or something?” As much as Washington likes that Tucker clearly doesn't hold a grudge, he still doesn’t like the thought that he upset Tucker. Doesn’t want the times he’s fucked up to be what Tucker see’s when he thinks the name Wash. He certainly doesn’t see Tuckers mistakes - but then, he definitely wouldn’t want Tucker to know what he see’s when he thinks the soldiers name (and not just because he does that a lot more often than he should, at times when it’s perhaps not okay to think of a friend like that).  

Tucker groans but regardless pushes himself up to questioningly stare at Wash. “Why’d you have me to drag me away from all the fun? Fine, lets go.”

 Wash can only smile and lead him out the room to a corner less crowded by bored busy-body soldiers who really need something to do other than pointless excavations and gossip.

The mess hall should be almost empty by now, with only the few hard hitting soldiers who stayed late to practice milling around. They find a seat somewhere quiet, and to Washington’s dismay Tucker is already looking at him weirdly - oh God, he only wanted to take him here because he’s so bad at apologies, he doesn’t want it to become a whole _thing_ \- coughs awkwardly, opens his mouth to speak, _breath Washington_ , and then -

“I don’t wanna put you off saying what was oh-so important, but before we touch dicks and have this big heart to heart, we’ve got company.” Tucker gestures to his right and _God dammit, will this guy not quit?_ Because Emerald of all people is marching over to them, looking beyond the point of ridiculous all dressed up in his armour with a squashed and dripping juice carton in his balled up fist.

 Wash drags himself up from his seat (he really cannot be bothered to deal with this guy right now. If it wasn’t for him he wouldn't have to be apologising) to once again stand head up, shoulders back, though very specifically not standing in front of Tucker this time (less to later apologise for). 

“You!” Emerald calls out. Wash almost wants to laugh at how bad-guy cliché this solider is turning out to be.  

“Isn’t it a bit later for juice?” Wash snidely replies. “Mommy says it’s bedtime soon.”

 Emerald seems caught off gaurd for a split second, then remembers the box in his hands and angrily throws it to the side. It might be intimidating, if it were a glass or a bottle, but the sad slap the wet cardboard makes when it hits the wall and flops down onto the floor just makes Emerald look even more like a tantruming toddler. 

“Funny. Humour won’t do shit for you when I’ve got you pinned down by the throat.”

 Washington actually has to role his eyes at this. If he has to kick some serious green ass again, he will without a second thought.

 “I seem to remember Washington being to one to pin you down last time. Or maybe you’d like me to remind you?” Tucker knowingly smiles, an infuriating grin to be on the other end of (for both Emerald and Wash). And the comeback is sort of brilliant, if expected.

 Washington gets to be smug for literally half a second before Emerald responds with a just as expected response and lunges for Tucker, Washington reaching out to snatch at him and Tucker immediately darting forward, fists and teeth bared.  

“Emerald!” a female voice calls out from behind and although both Wash and Tucker don’t seem to notice, Emerald stops in his tracks. 

With their target still, Wash holds Emerald by the shoulders and Tucker leaps for him, pushing him down on the ground with an animal growl in his throat. A solid ‘thunk’ rings out when the polished green of Emerald’s armour hits the ground. Though Tucker scrabbles for the latches on Emeralds helmet Washington doesn’t have time to react before Tucker is thrown off and sent flying back into the table.

 Washington feels panic absolutely flood his body because Tuckers eyes aren’t open, and if anything has happened he is going to kill Emerald. He only just got comfortable enough to realise he wasn’t going to let Tucker go for a very long while and so he bolts over and thank God, Tucker has finally opened his eyes. Washington bends to his height but Tucker just uses him to pull himself up and storm over to Emerald, despite his wincing, when he notices how the green soldier is just stood still and staring.  When Washington moves to stand with Tucker, he see’s what Emerald is staring at.

 A girl stands just a few feet in front of Emerald. She’s short, a very pretty blonde with very startling green eyes. Washington notices her odd choice of dress; while soldiers here tend to wear the first shirt and sweatpants they find, the blonde wears a short dress and sandals, the opposite of comfortable or practical. On closer inspection, she’s actually wearing makeup. No one here has makeup. It’s an unnecessary luxury, and he doesn’t think he’s ever met a solider crazy enough to bring makeup with them instead of a homely memento.  

Though she smiles, it doesn’t meet her eyes. Washington doesn’t recognise her, doesn’t think he’s seen her around camp. There’s something odd about this girl that makes Washington think he would remember that face.  At once it clicks for Wash - he realises the girl is glowing! But then wait, she’s not glowing, she just looks sort of blue, not sad but literally the colour, a familiar, faint blue glare around her.

_She’s not real._

Washington realises why it’s so familiar. It’s the same glow Epsilon has. It was the same glow, though a different colour, that all the other AI’s had.

 Everything is silent and then, she speaks.  

“Emerald.” She whispers. 

The soldier moves, still but one hand reaching out, slightly, hesitant. _He knows she’s not real,_ Washington thinks. _But he wants to believe it._

The moment is shattered when she disappears. A small blink in the pixels, and then she’s gone. Emerald has once again frozen, hand still outstretched and yet now so empty.

 In her place stands William Ridgewell. Veteran Soldier, general of the base, and total. Fucking. Dick.

Fighting one of the wars stationed closer to earth means the base receives many a new technology. While Wash likes the advantage this gives them above the enemy, the method Ridgewell uses to test and disperse them is hardly fair or orthodox. Favourite gets the new toys, and anyone who says against it becomes the target.

Washington guesses Emerald is a pretty easy target.

 “What did you think? Was she good? Not real of course, but close enough? From the sly tone of Ridgewells voice, Washington knows the question is not how good she was but how much did she hurt? 

Emerald only stares at the ground. “Good. I knew she wasn’t real, but… you almost had me there. For a moment.” His voice is small. Washington almost feels bad for him. 

“Did you really soldier? Because you looked fairly convinced to me!” Washington can hear Ridgewell gloating. There is glee in the voice of that man for breaking this solider down to a cowering boy.  

“You got the details wrong. She wasn’t a natural blonde. She’s too skinny. And her smile fucking sucked.”

 “Difference in pixels and reality.” 

Emerald nods, and walks past Ridgewell out the door. Ridgewell stands and smiles, admiring the empty space where the girl once stood, and leaves out the other door with an entourage Wash hadn’t noticed before. 

“Well, that was unexpected.” Tucker says, looking slightly misplaced.

Washington now notices the slight crowd that has gathered. On the other side he see’s a welcome familiar face, a tech specialist he’s friendly with from a previous excavation. He holds a finger up to Tucker and says, “I’ll be right back,” before darting over to catch her quick and smiles when she recognises him.

“Hey, Washington,” She says when he gets close enough to hear. “You interested in what that thing was?” 

“You know it, Angela.” Washington tells her. Not often is he thankful for his overrated reputation, but times like this he thanks the Gods.

“It looks to me like a more advanced version of the holograms spartans usually use as an armour enhancement.” she contemplates, though still staring towards where the pretty blonde hologram once stood. If Wash knows the woman at all, he’s sure Angie’s silently begging for it to come back so she can really look at the work behind it. 

“But those things can’t do anything more than walk. I’ve never seen one move like that before, and talking? How would they even be able to do that in a hologram? Do you not think they could be some form of AI?”

 “Honestly Wash, it could be, but it’s more likely it’s a combination of whatever gives the AI’s a voice and a basic hologram armour enhancement. It’s highly unprobable it can do or say anything more than it’s programmed to. If Ridgewell only wants her to say things he think will upset our friend Emerald, that’s all she’s going to say.” 

Washington nods, thanks Angela, and heads back to where Tucker is stood. Except from the look on Tuckers face, he’s sort of wishing he’d stayed over with the people who didn’t want to kill him.

 “Hi?” Washington questions. It’s not the right answer, from the thunder written on Tuckers face.  

Tucker holds a finger up and looks the other way. Washington thinks _wow, rude,_ until he realises that’s what he did to Tucker literally thirty seconds ago and oh, that’s the right answer.

 “Hang on a second. Let me just go talk to my better than you friends about things you’re too stupid to understand. Also, despite the fact you’ve managed to hold yourself again significant enemies of strength much greater than your own, let me assume you’re much too incompetent to be of any help to me what so ever. Oh yeah, you’re also not allowed to get mad at me about this because I’ve been playing the mistrusting, broken freelancer card from the first moment we met, even though you probably regard me as the your best friend. Oh, and definitely, definitely do not expect me to apologise for any of this.” 

Tucker rolls his eyes and walks straight past Washington, heading for the dorm halls. Washington hurries after him, almost having to run to catch up before falling into step beside him.

“Okay, I fucked up-“

 “You know what, I can’t stand to be around you when you adopt that stupid fucking freelancer god complex.” 

“Tucker I know I’m a jerk sometimes -“

 “Do you really though? Because if you knew maybe you wouldn’t do it so often.”

 “I’m trying to actually deal with this emotions bullshit, I don’t mean to take it out on you-“ 

“But you do, Washington, whether you mean to or not you still do.” 

“I’m trying-“ 

_“Well try harder.”_

And even though he knew he was in the wrong, the stupid line that Tucker had put no thought into what-so-ever blew it for Washington.

 “You know what, rather than walking around bitching about it, why don’t you actually tell me what you want me to do!” 

Tucker stopped, and Washington though he might yell at him for a moment, before he realised they were both outside their rooms. 

“I want to be treated like a friend. An equal. You don’t even seem like you want to be around me half the time, Wash."

 He slid his key in the lock, pushed open the door, and left Washington in the hallway feeling like yelling would probably have been better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, if someone could please educate me as to what Ridgewell's actual title would be, that'd be awesome. The military lingo gets a bit lost on me. Thank you!  
> EDIT 27/09 - Oh my God, so I just realised that Thomas Ridgewell is Tomska's name. I'm such an idiot. I can't believe I didn't notice it before, I proof read like 10 times! I've changed it to William so if you're wondering why the name was different, that's why.  
> michaxljones is my RT tumblr blog but it's a side blog so if you want to message me you can find me at iwachanz. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

God damn it.

Washington feels like he is always fucking up.

First with Tucker on Monday, and then again on Tucker with Tuesday, and now, God damn, God damn, _damn the world-_

He’s forgotten today is the day Carolina and Epsilon are to return.

After everything they went through together, it was clear Epsilon and Carolina were a pretty badass pair (when they weren’t bickering). And Carolina was never the one to want to stay around base and just wait for things to happen. Since the moment the two had arrived at base with the others, almost six months ago now (had it really been that long?), they were itching to explore, find out what was waiting for them in the new and exciting planet.

So, it started with a few more assignments than the others, then a couple of week long trips, and then the dynamic pair were giving the opportunity to go on _a three month excavation_ across the section of uncharted land next to the one the UNSC troops were currently positioned at.

Of course they took the chance.

And now, that three months is over. And provided everything has gone to plan - not that anyone’s heard otherwise- the two should be back today.

Despite himself, Washington was actually looking forward to the day he could see them again. Except he’s only gone and forgotten it.

In fact, he remembers 30 minutes into his new super intense ‘I will not let you get yourself killed on my watch’ training with his troops, and he can't trust them to continue on their own.

They're almost as bad as him when he was an innocent (well, mostly) freelancer. He’s even seen one of them with a curly straw.

So he figures once he’s forced them round their last gruelling lap, he’ll let them have a rest and go find someone who isn’t mad at him to remind him what time Epsilon and Carolina will be back.He usually relies on Tucker to tell him that kind of thing, but letting him cool down seems like a better idea. Wash should really ebgin learning these things for himself again.

Oh, but of course Wash would walk into the room two hours late to the party.

‘Agent Washingtub!’ Caboose is fortunately the first to notice him. ‘Look! Tiny Church and Carolina are back!’

'What?'

Well, Wash could call it a party. If 2 grey ground soldiers, the remaining 7 Blood Gulch crew members, Carolina, and Epsilon counted as a party. Which it might do, if you didn't have many friends (not that Washington's parties would have been any bigger. Not any more).

At Caboose's exclamation, everyone in the room turns to look at Wash. He doesn't think he's ever gone more red. 

'Uh, hi, guys. It's good to see you again.'

'Thanks Wash. You too.' Carolina forces out what is probably a a friendly head nod in her books, and generally the two don't seem to be too mad. But the room is still quiet. Just staring at him. Washington's cheeks are on _fire_.

He tries to catch a look from Tucker. Surely there was a joke he could crack in this situation, but the second their eyes meet Tucker tears his away again.

'Two hours late, man. And you call me lazy.'

Oh, thank the gods for Deter Grif. People laugh at typical joke, the tension disperses. And Washington has never wanted to hug the big orange cheesit more than now.

Wash decides it's definitely too far of a stretch to call it a party. 'Gathering' seems to be a more comfortable word. He's no expert, but even he can work out that parties usually require some kind of music and refreshments. This is more like eleven people making idle chit-chat and appreciating being in the same room together. 

Which actually speaks volumes, when he considers it.

'Washington?'

Wash turns at the sound of his name. To his surprise it is Angela standing there, what appears to be an awkward smile on her face. He's surprised to see her here; as far as he knows, Angela had only briefly come into contact with Church and Carolina before they were whisked off on their wonderful adventure. But then, maybe that's why she looks so awkward.   
'Hi, Angela. What can I do for you?' 

'Ridgewell wants to see you.'

Oh. So it's more of a grimace than a smile. Now Wash understands. He thanks her with a nod of the head and steps towards the group. Most have stopped paying attention to him, aside from one turquoise soldier giving him a look that Washington recognises only too well from his freelancer days.

'I heard her,' Tucker says bluntly. 'Go. I'll tell them.'

'It's Ridgewell. I'm so sorry, I can't do anything about-'

'Just go, Washington.' Tucker doesn't give Washington the chance to say anything else. He pushes away through the crowd, towards a gasping Caboose admiring something in his hands. It would be selfish of Washington to go after him now. Even to this day, the blue team members still rely on each other.  
_Original blue team,_ something deep in Wash's head whispers. But he ignores it.

There are more pressing issues at hand.

* * *

 

'I am yet to inform the rest of your team, but now Epsilon and Carolina have returned, you have a task. I wouldn't even hesitate to call it a mission. It will be the most useful thing you've done since your group has been here.'  
  
Washington nods and shifts awkwardly in the uncomfortable wooden seat under Ridgewell's glare. His office is as uniform as the man himself. Ridgewell sits behind a mahogany desk, papers folded to one side and a whiring grey computer system to the other. Two chairs sit in front of Ridgwell's own, for any man stuck inside the firing line. His own plush, leather desk chair looks to be one of the most comfortable things in the base to sit on (and Washington would bet not on the formal list of office supplies). What Washington can see as the only personalised area of the room is the row of neatly stacked books lining the top shelf of his standard-issue bookshelf, and the rows below which sit a line of perfectly straight trophies, a single photo of a dog, and an impressive collection of nik-naks including a tiny china sombrero and a small toy movie clipper boasting 'Hollywood' as the name, camera, and director of the film.

'Well, I have only been doing the tasks I've been assigned.' Washington really, truly, wants to be the guy who stands up to the cruel dictator and yells 'not today, asshole!' accompanied by a round kick to the head and a crowd of applause. Unfortunately, sitting like a piece of meat under the eagles beady eye, his attempt at being assertive comes out more... whiny. Childish.

'I'm aware of what you've been doing during your time here, agent.' Ridgewell's grants him small relief and direct his attention to the papers through his left. His skims through and picks out a wad, fluttering in the breeze from the open window, and hands them to Washington.  

Washington blinks in surprise. 'This is a recon mission in enemy territory. It could involve actual combat, sir.' The most complex mission Washington had been given so far was to reclaim a small piece of land next to the commanders dormitories Ridgewell claimed could be a threat. But the only threat on the land seemed to be the lack of spa and leisure centre, which was quickly being resolved (unlike the lack of suitable training equipment for the younger soldiers, or the damp in every single one of south building's dorms, or the poisonous spiders constantly found in the kitchen).

'I'm aware of that too, though I should hope it would be no problem for experienced soldiers like the six of you. You are to retrieve a box containing an artefact from a minor storage facility on the outskirts of their territory. It's contents are not especially important, but since we know they have it, we want it. I would expect the worst you should encounter is some small resistance from the few security guards posted there.'

'Thanks for your confidence, sir.'

'If you have any other questions, you can consult the booklets. Pass them out to the others, you'll find their names listed inside the covers. Otherwise, get out of my office. I have much better things to do.'

Washington starts towards the door, bends a page with his thumb to to see who's day he has to make and who's he has to ruin.

And then turns straight back around again.

'Agent Aaron Emerald better not be who I think it is.'

'Excuse me?'

Oh, this piece of meat just found his teeth.

'Emerald is reckless. I have known this soldier all of two days and he has used both of those to get into pointless fights with me and what sounds like half the base, and-'

'Most of which he has won, aside from you and Captain Tucker. I begrudge saying it but the six of you happen to be a group of the base's best soldiers. You would be a very strong team. Or is it that you're jealous, Agent?'

'Sir, please, this has nothing to do with my pride. Yes, he's strong, but when he lost he flipped his sh- mind. What if that happens while we're out there? What if he find the two guys in their defence who could take him on, he can't accept defeat, and gives them time to call down more than just a few guards? Six people can't take down a whole squad.'

'Base interactions should not affect work, Washington. If he bothers you that much I'm sure we can find you another posting somewhere else.'

'No!'

'Well then, get used to him. Make him part of your team. He's rather new here so show him around, teach him the rules, what ever it is soldiers do these days. But do not resist this. It will not change and you will only make things harder for yourself.'

Make things harder for himself. Washington knows exactly what that means. He doesn't feel like having the faces of his mother, his brother, his comrades projected for all the world to see. To know his mistakes. To know when he should have been a better man, and wasn't.

Calm it, Washington.

'I understand,' he says through gritted teeth. 'however, his behaviour in camp concerns me. I have been through enough without another one of my friends being killed because of another soldier's inexperienced stupidity.'

'Do you really believe everyone here hasn't been through something? This is not an argument. These are orders. They are made to follow. You are a soldier and you are made to follow them. You have my leave.'

'Sir? If he's such an outstanding solider, then why don't you like him? I saw what happened in the food court yesterday.'

' _You have my leave_.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly? I'm aware this isn't my best work. But it's been sat in my drafts for months. I'd rather you had it to enjoy it than to sit here for a few more months. Expect a re-write sometime in the future. And since RVB is starting up again, and by getting this chapter out the way, I'll finally have motivation to start writing again! Yay!  
> michaxljones is my RT tumblr blog but it's a side blog so if you want to message me you can find me at iwachanz. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Washington returns to the party, everyone has already dispersed. 

War stops for no one. 

He knows where Tucker will be. His relationship with Tucker is like that of a high school best friend; they each have the others timetables off by heart. At the end of each period, whoever get’s off first will wait outside for the other or they meet in-between. 

Washington didn’t have a crush on his high school best friend.

He knocks on Tuckers dorm door, a sharp and calling rap before he remembers he is in disgrace.

If Tucker remembers, that doesn’t stop him from opening the door. 

He leaves it open for Washington to come in and strolls back to his desk, littered with heavy mounds of paperwork. Under all that mess is probably a Playboy, but a sign of how much Tucker has changed is that now, all Wash can see is black, red and white, formal, ‘OFFICIAL DOCUMENT OF THE UNSC’.”

‘How’s it going?’ Washington ventures.

‘Okay. They want that report on B12’s progress by tonight, so…’ Tucker’s tone isn’t annoyed, but his lexis says otherwise. Not the usual whine for help that Washington finds it so easy to give in to.

‘Of course they do. Sooner B12 is cleared, the sooner they can get their sauna.’

Tucker doesn’t offer a reply. His focus is already back to the papers. 

Washington adds another document to the pile.

‘What’s this?’ queries Tucker’s curious voice. It’s not often their briefings are so thick.

‘Mission. A real one.’

Tucker meets Washington’s eyes, and then snatches at the packet like a starving man finding food.Wash understands; at least in Blood Gulch, Blue Team knew who their enemy was.

In fact, Washington knows surprisingly little about the war he’s fighting. Maybe after taking such control over the events on Chorus this should be a relief, but he’s incredibly unsettled by it. All he’s been told is that the militia he’s against acquired some equipment they shouldn’t have, and performed some experiments they _really_ shouldn’t have. The last time that was his brief, he ended up on the wrong side and alone.  
Washington makes a mental note to ask asap for a few more details.

“Look at these infiltration plans… Caboose and I can finally use everything you’ve taught us in real combat. Caboose is coming, right?’

‘I’ll let you examine the roster yourself.’

Tucker flips to the front of the booklet, nods as his eyes make their way down the page, and then stops. Frowns. 

‘Who’s Aaron Emerald?’

‘Who do you think?’

Tuckers features scrunch up a little in concentration; and then in realisation his eyes and mouth pop open, looking up at Wash.

‘You’re kidding me. They’re sending us on a mission with him?’

‘Yeah. I thought you’d be angrier. Why are you so surprised?’

‘I am angry. That’s why I’m surprised. Ridgewell knows we don’t get on; can’t you do something about this?’

‘I tried, but Ridgewell wasn’t having it.’

‘Oh come on, Washington. Don’t tell me you haven’t got any authority. You and Carolina are the only ones on this list who could get him kicked off, and she’ll only tell us to suck it up.’

‘Seriously, I tried. Ridgewell ended up threatening me. You’ve gotta stop thinking of it as us and them - Freelancer doesn’t matter anymore. I’m the same clearance as you.’

‘Seriously Washington, you should listen to your own advice.’

And there he was again - the pissed off, frustrated Tucker that just couldn’t stand Washington. The one that still saw him as the guy who tried to kill him and his friends. The one that still saw them as Red, Blue and Freelancer.

Sometimes, when they were sat in the Rec room or the canteen, just him and Tucker, making the other laugh with dumb jokes and awful pick-up lines: Washington could see it. He could see this future with Tucker where they’d get out while they were still young enough to start again together. They’d follow each other to wherever life took them, which was hopefully an apartment not too far away from whatever family Tucker had left. They’d get a cat, or if Tucker wanted a few more kids, and of course Junior would be welcome to stay whenever he was on Earth. If Washington had bad nights Tucker would help him through them, and Washington would make sure that Tucker didn’t loose contact with the other simulation troopers, and especially not Caboose and especially, especially not Epsilon Church (who, for some reason, had his own body in this fantasy world of his). Their only stress would be Monday mornings getting the kids to school and their days off would be lazy Sunday mornings with bacon and eggs in bed. And at the end of each day, David could look down at Lavernius’ sleepy face, kiss him goodnight and think, ‘We did it. We’re here’.

Now though….

All Washington wants is for Tucker to realise they’re on the same team.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Washington sighs, and makes for the door. Tucker’s right to be angry at him. Besides, words won’t help, he’s tried that already; action’s will have to persuade him now.

Out in the hallway, Wash begins to make his way to the training yard. What with the excitement of the mission, he’d entirely forgotten he was half way through training his squad. Of course, he’s been gone over an hour; a motivated squad would had given up and left by now, let alone his squad. Not that they aren’t dedicated, but given that the most likely cause of death are the kitchen’s spiders, they seem to be lacking a certain drive that comes with life or death situations. Like, y’know, war.

Maybe he should tell them the story of the him and the Meta. A good story always got them worked up, and maybe it’d remind them they’re not in school anymore. No one has ever won a war with lunch breaks and sarcastic comments, unless that war was against a substitute teacher. Although Wash would kinda be their full time teacher now (when did he suddenly a teacher? When did these soldiers become his metaphorical kids?).

He’s right. Stepping out into the yard, his team are no where to be seen. He can, however, spot one Agent Carolina, reacquainting herself with the outdoor training tech with the help of Epsilon Church. And since he didn’t get the chance to speak to them at their own party, he figures he should at least make the effort to say hi now and give them their mission briefs.

Wash approaches the metal ring Carolina stands in. The equipment throws holographic obstacles in her direction, everything from a rock to blade or a bullet. Behind her sits three blue figures of Church’s creation; civilians she’s supposed to protect. Church himself is hovering just above her shoulder, screaming orders over her grunts and pointing in the opposite direction she needs to be looking. One of the fake civilians tries to run away, head first into a bullet, but Carolina manages to deflect it and get the citizen to sit behind her again.

A standard solder would be overwhelmed, but Carolina handles herself with grace and precision.

The simulation ends; her score is near perfect.

It’s certainly not a score Wash could achieve, but Carolina frowns anyway when she sees it on the display.

‘Carolina! Hey.’ Wash calls over to her before she can start another run.

‘Wash?’ Carolina gives him small wave, Church a tiny head nod. They don’t look any different for the three months away, but then why would they? Their armour’s still as shiny as it was when they met. If anything, Church blue glow looks a little weaker, but then Wash is probably taking his worries out on Church. On the other hand, Wash hasn’t seen Carolina’s face in a really long time, and frankly at this point he’s not sure he wants to. 

“Here.’ By now he’s learnt that pleasantries are pointless in holding Carolina’s attention, but hopefully the mission brief will pique her interest.

‘Another mission? So soon?’

Carolina and Church begin flicking through the book. Wash turns to leave (he’s not going to stick around while they read the whole thing, he’s got stuff to do) but Carolina’s call brings him back. 

‘Wait. Who’s this Emerald guy?’

‘You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet? Honestly, I don’t know who he is. I’ve met him twice and he’s used both those opportunities to get into fights with me and Tucker. All I know is Ridgewell likes him as much as I do.’

Carolina sighs. She is by no means the biggest fan of Ridgewell’s ethics, no matter who the recipient is. 

‘Of course. Why is he lumped in with us? The team works well together as it is. Unless Ridgewell’s just looking for an excuse to start shitting on us… But that doesn’t make sense, he’s given me and Church responsibilities and he knows we stand with the Reds and Blues…’

‘He’s not a bad soldier.’ Wash interjects. ‘It’s only his personality that could use some work.’

‘I haven’t heard you so quick to defend someone in a long time, Wash.’ Carolina laughs. ‘Has the easy life turned you soft?’

‘No, I…’ Wash stops, wonders. Why is he defending this guy? ‘I guess I just remember what an asshole I was once upon a time. The Reds and Blues set me right. Maybe they can do the same for him.’

‘Okay, well, anything to help rip these assholes a new one.’ Church comments. It’s a surprisingly bloodthirsty thing for him to say, and Wash has to check the AI hasn’t started to glow red like Sigma. Even more surprisingly, Carolina agrees with him.

‘Is there something I’ve missed here? I was under the impression these guys were cupcakes compared to Felix and Locus.’ Wash can’t help but query the odd change in tone, not because Carolina is usually such a sugary little princess but because the two are disproportionately 

fired up about an enemy they know next to nothing about. 

‘Dude, are you kidding? They’re not as obnoxious, I guess…’ Church’s helmet is cocked to the side, like he’s inspecting Washington. If he could see Carolina’s face right now, he’d guess that she was grimacing from the way her head is pulled back.

‘Wash, Felix and Locus did awful things, but at least they only did them to other soldiers.’ She shakes her head, looks down at the floor, and Church nods in agreement.

‘Seriously, what am I missing here? I thought this was a war over stolen equipment?’ Washington throws his arms up in defence, though the only attack on him is verbal.He doesn’t understand. What did they do that was so awful, and why doesn’t he know?

‘Washington, they stole Earth’s children.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> michaxljones is my RT tumblr blog but it's a side blog so if you want to message me you can find me at iwachanz. Thanks!


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